The Master Blacksmith

James 1:2-3 states: "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance." This is tough to live out, I find.  An analogy that helps me is one that compares ourselves to rusty chunks of scrap iron, pulled from a junk pile, useless to anybody, and the best thing we can hope for is that we will be on the top of the junk pile, instead of the bottom.

Then along comes the Blacksmith, and for whatever reason, sees potential in you and picks you up out of the pile. This is where the inevitable break down of the analogy happens; it's hard to come up with how the Blacksmith dies on behalf of the scrap iron. But anyway, you feel good about this, being chosen, being separated from the junk pile, but often as not, at the same time, He is just lighting the forge-fire, and putting his tools in order.  Then, abruptly, you are thrust into the forge of trials for what feels like an impossible length of time, and next, much to your relief you are pulled out right before your melting point, but instantly after that, you are plopped on the anvil and He commences to pounding you lustily with large hammer, molding you, shaping you into whatever He is wanting.  Mostly, during this process of transmogrification, you feel horribly persecuted, to say the least, more than just bruised or battered, you are literally shedding flaky scales of your crusty, metallic flesh, you are losing your very nature of who you are; he is not merely re-shaping you into a different shaped piece of junk, but has a plan for you, to morph you into a incredibly beautiful, ornate, but ingenious tool of divine purpose, that is designed to bring glory to himself, by which time that happens, you have found that it is only in doing this thing that you were made for that brings the most amount of salve to your scorched soul. And as improbable as it seems, sometimes as you can catch the occasional glimpse of yourself and see what he is working toward, you can tell of what shape you will someday take, you welcome it.

But, sometimes you feel it isn't worth it, the pounding or the trials.  Then you go to Sonic with your children and you sit in your car waiting on your shakes or sundaes to be brought to your car window when you notice the young woman, though it is hard to tell how young; the years have NOT been kind to her, sitting at the table directly in front of you, facing you, yelling for water into the microphone, head lolling around, her eyes rolling back into her head when they are open, and the jerky, involuntary, repetitive hand motions and twitching legs.  She is obviously so spun out of her mind that she has no idea where she is, much less what she is doing.  As painful as this is to watch, and even as your heart breaks and cries out for this sad creation that God himself died for, just the same as he died for you, but because you so easily recognize this, you are, in some small way, glad that you have a real life, panoramic view of this vignette playing out for you to illustrate and warn your kids about the dangers of drugs, yes, but more than that, this was directly caused by the result of living in this world solely for your own pleasure as chronicled so well in the bible. You and your family watch this appallingly dramatic Drive-In Theater, featuring The Tragedy of Self-Destruction Via Unchecked Delectation unfolding 20 feet in front of your car, as you can't help but be witness to her as she spills, spits, and vomits all over.  Finally when the cops, firemen and EMT's swarm up, she is near comatose, head slumped down, just sitting.  They try to get her to speak, but she is reduced to quiet mumbles and still the repetitive hand motions, so they carefully haul her away, and clean up after her.

And after the ice cream is eaten, after the sermon is preached, in the quiet car on the ride home you are flooded, overwhelmed, even devastated by the realization of how grateful you are that you have a Blacksmith that loves you enough to keep pounding you into something better. And it makes you beg for more.

Because:
We love not the forge;
nor the anvil;
But we love He who wields the hammer.

On Independence and Gratitude

I don't think I am boasting or exaggerating if I call myself an Independent Person, by design (on my own efforts), and by nature (without trying). I was purposefully taught to be independent by my parents, but I think the older I get, the more it has been woven into the very fiber and fabric that makes up Daniel Foster.  This isn't just some fantasy on my part, I'm fairly certain if you asked those closest to me, like Herself, she would affirm my bold statement.  I'm going to expound upon this, but it is for a reason, that you may know where I am coming from, so bear with me a little while.

I have trust issues.  I feel I can do nearly anything; and I feel that if I do it, it will be done better.  Take meat or food for example: I don't really trust the food I buy.  True, the meat you buy at the store is probably safe, but if I raise the animal myself, butcher it myself, process it myself, package it myself, and store it myself, I know it is safe.  And why would I pay someone else that doesn't know or care about me to do that?  I can do it myself...

I have "prepper" tendencies.  I hate the idea of having to rely on anyone else for basic necessities.  And, God forbid, be forced to hope that the federal government will come through for us if some natural disaster should happen and we can't make it to Walmart for an entire week.  Or if Walmart's trucks can't make to the store for a whole week.  This is why I buy toilet paper by the case, can (like pressure cook in jars) some extra food when we butcher or have extra produce from the garden, etc.  Nothing extravagant, just stuff you would use anyway.  (I might add: I get poked fun of some and called a prepper, but 100-150 years ago, we weren't called preppers, we were called "survivors" and we emerged from the Depression with our lives intact.)  I also approve of the best meat preservation method of all: having it walking around on the hoof, reproducing.

I can be cheap:  Why would I want to pay someone else to do something that I can do for myself?  I hate paying someone else to do any kind of remodeling on my house. Again, if I do it myself, I know its right, and if its not, I only have myself to blame.  I remember several times as a youth, my Dad saying "Man, I'm glad I messed that up, that way I don't have to be mad at anybody else."  I can totally relate.

I don't want to be "needy." It makes me uncomfortable to have someone else do something for me or give me something.  I am fine helping someone else out, and I like to be generous to others in real need, but it is distasteful to me to take something from someone else when I don't need it.  I feel undeserving, and like I am depriving someone of something valuable that they don't need to give up on my own.  I realize there is some slight neurosis regarding this, and a double standard perhaps, but hey; that's just the way it is. I can do it myself...

I am instinctively aggressive and bull headed.  More than once, I have risked my life and well-being by attempting (or succeeding, I should say; barely) to do something that would be easily accomplished with two people. but it doesn't even occur to me usually or I just think: "I can do this." I've had a few pretty serious close calls doing this, even though I had a very willing helper inside the house. I can do it myself...

But you have you ever really needed help? I mean really needed help? Herself and I watched part of a TV show last Saturday night with a young man somehow getting caught in a huge bin of corn. He was buried in millions of  pounds of corn in a standing position with his arm up reached towards the roof of the bin, literally 100 percent immobile, unable to move any part of his body in any direction. He was wearing a mask of some sort that kept the corn from lodging his mouth and nose shut. When the rescuers began to empty the grain bin and carefully shovel him out, what didn't happen was "No thanks, I don't need any help, I got this one." Or once they were most of the way done taking him out, he didn't say, "you know I've got this from here." It was an hours long process to get him unearthed, or in this particular case, uncorned. 

This is the same position we find ourselves in without Christ. We were trapped by the weight and pressure of our own sins, with the slight distinction that most of us were not trapped reaching upward. But God saves us, and he does it without our help, and he does it right in front of us, while we watch, incredulously.   He unearths (or un-sins) our feeble, trapped corpse from out from under the sin that we have stacked up around and above ourselves with reckless abandon. We come out, not just a salvaged old being, but transformed into an entire new one; we emerge from the corn as the butterfly must, amazed and bewildered.

And God is not reluctant to deal gently with our lack of faith and show us how he saved us.  He doesn't rebuke us, he just takes our hands and says "Put your finger here, see my hands... Reach out your hand and put it into my side..."  What else is there for us to do? There is nothing else to do but say "thank you" and follow. I cannot do it myself...

Or you could just utter my favorite 5 words in the bible; the most eloquent and powerful short sentence ever strung together by awestruck, completely honest human, acknowledging that Jesus was both his Savior and his Creator. "My lord, and my God!" 

Buttercup and Miss Petunia Sparkles

We've had a pretty busy spring/early summer.  I guess it mostly still feels like spring because it has been so unseasonably cool.  We were so dry for so long that now that it won't stop raining, I feel dirty for wishing it would dry out a little, but we are soaked through and through.  It has rained almost every day or every other day for nearly 2 weeks with rain in the forecast nearly every day of the next 7 days.  Anyway, here is some of the momentous things that have happened.

Our oldest daughter graduated 8th grade.  Yup, this is her entire class.  She's the short one, of course.  She won some faculty voted citizen award thingy.  I don't remember what it was, but I remember being very proud... 

This may not qualify as momentous, but I finally figured out how to grow asparagus. We have it in SPADES! Herself made a Cheesy Asparagus Tart.  It was amazing!  If that sounds weird to you, I get that; it sounded weird to me as well, but it was really good.  So cheesy, creamy, savory. She never ceases to amaze me with a wildly diverse and yet healthy menu... Who would think of such a thing?

This was truly momentous; Buttercup had her (and our) first calf!  She was born on 5-15-15 without any problems.  We voted on her name and came up with Miss Petunia Sparkles.

Miss Petunia Sparkles is typical in that, as a bottle calf, she is very friendly and endearing.  This is a shot of our second daughter brushing her.  Miss Petunia Sparkles doesn't give a toot about being brushed, she only thinks about getting fed.

Milking Buttercup has really proven to be a challenge for us.  In some ways, it seems a lot easier than I expected, and in other ways harder.  She has problems with one teat not producing that we haven't figured out, and are pretty worried about it.  But after growing up with beef cattle, her patience with me is just amazing!  She just lets me do my thing back there, and mostly waits compliantly until I am completely done before trying to move on.  She has been producing about 3.5 gallons, twice a day, and just out of 3 teats!  Herself has been experimenting with yogurt, cottage cheese, and pretty soon cheese. 

Is she not the cutest thing ever?  I was a little disappointed that she was a heifer, because now I'm tempted to keep her; if it was a steer, we would have butchered it once it got "of age."

Buttercup in the cover crop; I thought it was just too picturesque.

Sometimes we aren't able to drink the milk for various reasons, like if it gets contaminated with manure, etc, or we just can't drink it or use it fast enough.  We just turn it into bacon; the hogs don't mind if its a little "off", they go nuts!

Our second oldest is our farm-girl!  She loves this stuff, and she loves Miss Petunia Sparkles!  She feeds her almost exclusively, and I have even got scolded once for doing the morning milking without waking her up.

Sometimes farming is pretty dirty work, though.  Here is Oldest and I after Buttercup majorly  splattered us cow poo.  When that happens, you just got to grin and wear it!

On Halter-breaking Buttercup

Donkey vs. Cow: Donkey wins!

Buttercup is our Soon-To-Be milk cow.  She is kind of a "spaz".  She is really nice, and mostly gentle, but as is often the case in animals 10 times the size and weight of me, she goes where she wants to, when she wants to.  The solution? Tie her to something more determined than her, and even if the animal (a Donkey, in this case) weighs roughly half of Buttercup, apparently determination counts for more than weight does, because they go wherever that donkey decides to go! When the donkey is hungry, they go eat.  When the donkey is thirsty, they go drink.

I left them tied together for a week and I'll be darned if old Buttercup wasn't the most halter-broke cow ever after that.  Now the kids can lead her around!

I've decided that having large animal livestock is right up my alley.  "Breaking" an animal large enough to eat me (if they were inclined) or stomp me to death gives me just enough challenge to make it fun, and really rubs that itch inside of me to be a bully.  Its okay to be "mean" to a cow if you are halter breaking her; its just never okay to tie one of your kids or someone you dislike to a 800 lb donkey.  Or, recently I wanted to get so I could approach the Jack Donkey, so I tied him to a hedge tree (the only thing more stubborn than a donkey) for a week so that he could get used to me getting close to him.  Then I tied an concrete block to his halter and turned him loose.  It was just heavy enough to slow him down because he didn't like dragging around that thing.  I didn't keep it on too long, because it was really rubbing him across his nose, and my Inner Bully is not that strong...  Anyway, my thinking is, if I have these animals to be mean to, maybe my kids, my hired help, and Herself will be able to catch a break.

on Parenting

Sometimes, I feel its impossible to keep up around here.  Not with the animals, projects, and chores; but with 4 kids!  In our world, four kids is not very many at all; I think the family average between my siblings, even just with my four is Seven kids.  I really brought the average down, in fact, my brother and sister have so many kids that nobody is really sure how many there are any more.  But in my house, 4 seems like a lot when they are little Dynamos of Destruction.

For example, my eldest requested a basketball.  No problem, get online and order a basketball; 6.99 from Walmart.com, wait until you have 50.00 dollars worth of dog food, peanut butter, etc in order to get free shipping, and four days later, Viola! Basketball!  Just one problem, it comes deflated, and we don't have a pump. No problem, 4.99 from Walmart.com, wait until you have 50.00 dollars worth of dog food, peanut butter, etc in order to get free shipping, and Seven days later, Viola! Basket ball pump!  Only problem, I didn't air it up RIGHT THEN AND THERE, so my oldest gets impatient (if it would have turned out better, I would call this "self-motivated") and tries to pump it up herself.  Most 14 year old kids know how to air up a basketball, but farm life has never really pushed me in the direction of any. sport. ever.  So she didn't know about switching out the balloon-blower-cone end out for the needle, and CRAMMED it into the brand new basketball, thereby forcing the little black rubber thing completely into the deflated ball, ruining said new ball.

To top it all off, we learn of this by getting a text while on a date, complete with video of her doing it, all the while complaining about (albeit politely) how dumb her parents are because we don't know how to buy decent sports equipment.  Grrrr.

So, I order another basketball, 6.99 from Walmart.com, wait until you have 50.00 dollars worth of dog food, peanut butter, etc in order to get free shipping, and ? days later, Viola! Basketball!  Just one problem; in the meantime the Captains of Chaos have figured out how to install the needle onto the pump and installed it.  In the process of waiting for the new ball to show up, the youngest decides that the pump looks just like a little crutch, and begins stumping around on it.  You got it; SNAP goes the needle, about the same time the new, deflated ball arrives.  At this point, it occurs to me that my brother and sister have, in order, either 2 times the amount, or 3 times the amount of kids as I do.

How do they ever get their basketballs inflated?

Another new addition to the Farmlet

I would like to welcome our newest member of our porcine family; our first full grown (almost; he's only about 6 months old) boar. (above in the red)  In the above picture he is already introducing himself to one of my gilts. I bought him and one more open gilt yesterday.  He and the new gilt are Red Durocs.

Lamb Roast

This year I decided to host a "Lamb Roast" by butchering and Rotisserie-ing a large lamb.  I invited nearly everyone I thought would be available and interested in doing something a little experimental. It turned out "Okay", but I did learn some things, some of which I will recount here so that I can remember them.  Here are a few photos:

Here are my helpers.  It went so well, we just impulsively decided to do another one that same morning.

Stitching up onions, garlic and lemons inside the cavity

Setting lamb over grill.

Basting every half hour. 

Finally getting done! 

So, the long and short of it is this; It took a lot longer than I expected.  I am sooooo glad we butchered the second lamb and just tossed him into the smoker, or we would have had a lot of angry, hungry people driving to Burger King.  I sure could have lowered it down on the stands earlier for one thing, and another is I guess I needed more fire in general.  I would say next time I would allow at least 8 hours of cook time for a 120 # live weight animal, and certainly start it out lower.  Even when done, it wasn't very tender, so it could have used a few more hours still.